makoxmind

[makoxmind]

“Aerith…” The soft call back returns at the same moment the smell of something delicious rises from the heat of a busy kitchen, and with the gentle patter of the oven mitt Elmyra wanders over to the bottom of the stairs with a hand set gently upon the bannister. At first her expression is plain, unassuming, but her daughter can tell when her mother was being analytical and it was clear by the beat of silence that the girl was being assessed. “Hm.” Elmyra’s smile was sly as she turned away, having unknowingly gotten the answer to a question that hadn’t been spoken aloud. “Morning, dear. Unlike you to be sleeping in, but, I suppose you can be let off the hook given… yesterday. And, without you there to champion your little stray dog, I got to give him a stern talking-to.” This would have been something to be alarmed about if the woman’s voice wasn’t so playful, fringed by the beginning of laughter as she spun upon her heel and returned to the kitchen with a knowing aura. A much different slew of emotion than the night before. Truthfully, it would have been extremely difficult to maintain any kind of animosity towards the ‘little stray dog’-- he was hurt, and Aerith had gotten caught up in whatever battles he was throwing himself stupidly into, and Cloud deserved a smidge of telling off for that. However... he was a child. When he wasn’t around Aerith, however, when he did not have his flowery shield to fall back onto, Elmyra had found the lad rather… Innocent. It was perhaps the least cruel way to say it. Her daughter had told of his personality (‘special’ had been the word… and ‘not smart’, and ‘flighty’!) in the dimly lit confinements of her room and those words were accurate, but… he was so…… regardless, there hadn’t been much scolding for long. Not that Aerith knew that. “Before you say anything… no, I did not kick him out afterwards.” It would likewise be cruel to allow the girl to get puffed up thinking that something bad had happened in her sleeping hours, “I expected… I don’t know. To need bandages, or something like that. There wasn’t even a scratch left. SOLDIER’s… really are something else.” Elmyra’s voice had quietened a little as her gaze came down to access the kitchen counter top, where an array of jam tarts were cooling on numerous racks, the melody of peach and apple and cherry were causing the ceiling to be whitened by the sweet smoke that furled out of semi-open windows. So many… and so many colours, but as honeyed as they looked, the moment Aerith would set her eyes upon them there would be a stern wagging of a finger as if to distract her from the sight, “... But, while I am relieved he is miraculously fine, you two aren’t having any of these. As punishment. Because bread I can handle, but jam thievery is a no-go, young lady. I didn’t even need to run an interrogation, he just confessed of his own will. I set him to work outside litter-picking for bread-related crimes, because the storm brought in a ton of nonsense amongst the garden... and I dressed him for the job, seeing as your ideas of clothing aren’t appropriate.” A pause, that knowing look again, “You can't out-fox your ma, dear.”

There was a heaviness to the air that spoke of rainfall, yet, no pattering came upon the window. Through the slits of the upper-level the sky was patchy, grey and blue side by side, and every time a cloud would wander past the light would fail… just to come back in spectacular beams of yellow that dappled the world below it. The smell of petrichor had long since claimed the old house in the alcove, the scent of moss and fern and gnarled wood softened by water yet steaming in the sunlight; and all was quiet. 

It was gone nine AM, and in a running gag that always brought notes of sadness with it, Aerith Gainsborough had woken up alone.

@whiitemateria

[makoxmind]

There was a heaviness to the air that spoke of rainfall, yet, no pattering came upon the window. Through the slits of the upper-level the sky was patchy, grey and blue side by side, and every time a cloud would wander past the light would fail… just to come back in spectacular beams of yellow that dappled the world below it. The smell of petrichor had long since claimed the old house in the alcove, the scent of moss and fern and gnarled wood softened by water yet steaming in the sunlight; and all was quiet. 

It was gone nine AM, and in a running gag that always brought notes of sadness with it, Aerith Gainsborough had woken up alone.

@whiitemateria

[makoxmind]

It was almost… as if he couldn’t bear to bring his eyes to meet the others. Having cast them aside in the quiet, Cloud searches for comfort in the little cracks in the ground and is met with nothing to quell the hollow feeling that had made its home in his chest long ago. No amount of mental scouring brought about clarity. It was as if something, something, was stopping the raging flow of lost time within his mind-- and it hurt. A thousand waves against stone breakers, Cloud can feel the static building as if the moment threatened to lose all sound and colour like it had done time and time again; but with a single touch, it’s broken. 

“--Hm?” Flighty, he flinches with his heart skipping a beat and wild eyes swinging upwards, not anticipating the gentle motion Zack leant him. There is no anger upon his face, none of the usual annoyance… the blonde is boyish seeming as he gazes at the other. “... Listen…”

How could he be proud? What paving, what road, Cloud felt as if he was barely catching his feet, two seconds away from stumbling at every turn, and when he looked back upon the trail he had made it’s black and hazy and tinged with the harshest shades of red. A shaking of his fluffy head. He is disagreeing with the other without using words, once again letting his eyes fall to Zack’s boots in a submissive manner. 

Would he get there…?

“Don’t… say stuff like that, alright?” The murmur is semi-heated, charged with strange emotion. His heart wants one thing, his head, another. He cannot lie. “I…”

You’ve changed.

“... Can’t remember. There are years that I can’t remember. So, whoever you knew, they’re gone.”

Oh? Suddenly that tone is sharp, he is trying to bring the walls that he was so fond of up around him again, because even though Cloud knows him and Zack are friends, suddenly, a chilling realization settles against his bones. This SOLDIER was probably friends… with who he was, the version of him that had drowned long ago in the mire of confusion and misery that came about with the flames of Nibelheim. This cheerful being, this man that spoke so positively of an uncertain future was probably looking for Cloud Strife, the one from absent memories, the dead-and-gone one. This Cloud was just a ghost. He haunted the material realm but barely existed as a collection of loose emotions threaded together with string that somehow managed to drag sadness and darkness wherever it was that he tread, and why would someone like Zack still want to be friends with someone… like him?

He is visibly colder now, half turned from his previous companion with a lump in his throat and furrowed brows. No, this guy didn’t know what he was talking about-- didn’t know who he was talking to-- at all. This was how the blonde defended his wounded heart from the threat of being hurt again… he kept himself away from the warmth that Zack projected.

… Yet, he could not force himself to leave.

“... It’s just a sword.” Those eyes are back to gazing at the floor once again. “I keep it maintained ‘cause if it gets dull, fighting gets harder.”

And who the Hell was Angeal…?

@makoxmind

continued from here:

The silence did not bring to him any sense of discomfort - rather a peace that he hadn't known was possible settled down over him in that moment of reunion with his friend. There was something about surviving hellish circumstance, something about cresting the impossible that solidified a connection, that twisted a pair of souls together that couldn't be explained in conventional terms to those who hadn't suffered a similar fate.

It was a different sort of connection than one shared by lovers, or even soul mates. It was another level entirely.

Though Zack knew at his core that Cloud's condition had rendered it impossible to piece together the memories of yesterday, it didn't change the facts as they were for him. One day, he was certain, everything would be given clarity. He only hoped he could leave him with other good memories to lean on when that time came.

There were a thousand and one ideas and feelings and thoughts that he would love to share with Cloud, but it was clear that he struggled with comprehension - among other things. Shaking his very foundation too much would be a cruelty.

But he could also reward himself with that sweet moment with his friend, if only to take one selfish second for himself.

"Heh." He clenched a fist, lightly knocking it up against Cloud's chest. "You've changed. I'm proud of you, man. Looks like you paved your own way. Lot farther to go, but you'll get there! Promise." He grinned wide enough to chase the shadows away. "You taking care of that sword? Angeal would have my ass if you were using it for ill."

[makoxmind]

❝ M A K O X M I N D ❞ ;

 an independent Cloud Strife roleplaying blog from the Remake timeline only. a quiet exercise in the psychological, the dark, and the forlorn. written by kells.

┖ veteran rper ┖ essay lover ┖ headcanon fan ┖ canon divergence┖ medium activity ┖ rules

[makoxmind]

‘ we’ve come a long way, you and i. ’ (Been through HELL together, brother!)

“Y… yeah.” His smile is tepid, there is no springing of positive emotion to his eyes.

He does not remember.

Cloud feels like he should, but scraps of memory from an inn-room and the subsequent drowning of the other man should be enough to tell him that this was a puzzle missing pieces. Another puzzle. The dead didn’t just rise from lake beds proclaiming that there had been some sort of journey undertaken when there was not a shadow of recollection to be grasped at, and, yet, Zack meets him so warmly… the blonde cannot phantom why. There is a familiarity in the ‘x’ at the others stern jaw, the jovial yet proud breadth of his tone… the way he looms-- tall, never imposing-- but…

He runs his fingers against his skull as if to adjust a stray lock fallen out of place, but some part of him hopes the shaky action would relieve the tenseness of the silence that follows. 

It does not. 

One as well versed in lying as he knows that there was no crawling out of the bottomless cavern that was whatever they meant to each other before. Another blurred-out picture. Another broken record skipping on a player. A collection forming; and he sighs, not because the quiet is biting, but because Cloud wishes desperately that he could fill it with a hundred tales of that life now lost.

[makoxmind]

 Aerith was intimidating, because she was so sure. 

He does not know where she dregs her sense of certainty in him from. She was filled with so much faith that it borders on unbelievable, it is as if the flower girl simply walks the world believing that yes, things would be ok, because as long as you hoped hard enough dreams could manifest. Cloud did not have that much hope. After everything that had lead up to that moment, still, some part of him feels-- thinks-- that she might say… no. That she might be weirded out by the sudden admission and reject him both physically and vocally and it doesn’t make any logical sense that the woman would suddenly turn heel and deny him, but. This defeatist mentality, this sombre and hopeless way of thinking means that every time Aerith contradicts the worst outcome that could be conjured up in that empty skull of his he is… elated. Time and time again, Cloud is surprised. Eternally and hopelessly surprised. 

Especially so when the pillow is lost to the depths below.

That was his shield! The soft and cozy barrier keeping Aerith from seeing that bemusing face of his, which was undoubtedly startled both by her actions and acceptance-- that was right… she had promised. Cloud hadn’t known she was being serious back then, and what was evidently worse was that the image of a handsome man on a date with a beautiful woman in the dim glow of the pristine upper-town streets seemed very romantic… but now, he’d have to fill that role. Him. He who had one set of clothes, did not actually like ‘fancy’ places and had never stepped foot upon the upper-plate unless it was for terrorist reasons.

Cloud gave a sigh. Part of it was relief. Part of it was lament for his own ambitions.

“G… good. Thanks.” He hadn’t meant to stutter, but the feeling of her fingertips running against his palm had caused a momentary lapse in his thought process. In lieu of that discarded pillow he had become hers… and the man doesn’t mind, not when the furl of her auburn locks cause every inhale to be scented so sweetly as they come to rest against his nose.

“It’ll be… great. I promise.”

Because even though it is an unwieldy thing to state, he wants to be sure, like her.

It was why he wasted no time in holding her back, why he fought against his initial hesitation to lean his cheek upon Aerith’s temple in a gentle rest, Cloud wants to lose himself in the plushness of her skin and the warmth of her breath and does not want to think about what could go… wrong. Later, perhaps. Later, he would say the words hes practicing, because as always the blonde is an open book and it would not be a far off assumption that he was waiting for some ‘special, grand moment’ to say them-- not that this wasn’t special. It was just that the merc was crooked-mouthed and red faced and had long since closed his eyes to try and kill visual input that would give him any reason to ascend like an over-stimulated cat from the scene. 

... Every time they laid together, she always fit against him like the gaps in their ribs were made for each other--

“... Sleep, because the sun’ll rise soon… don’t give your mom another reason to hate me.” Cloud mumbles abruptly against her skull, heatedly so, so much so he is almost burying his head there in a semi-intentional nuzzling. He will not mention the bread and the jam to Aerith despite the way his words are coloured by the scent of sweetness…

— ( with @makoxmind || continued from here )

For a brief moment after she's just gone and asked him the question she'd been rolling around in her head since almost the first moment she's seen him, Aerith and Cloud are simply staring at each other. Wide-eyed, verdant green to mako-stained blue, they stare at each other like startled animals, and she wonders, however briefly, if she'd made the wrong choice in tipping her hand so soon.

Yet, she'd heard him as he sat there, licking jam off of spoons and fingers, talking to ghosts in the room with all the gusto he could clearly never work up when she was in front of him. Sometimes, she wonders if she was so intimidating.

Then, she remembers that Cloud was wounded. That ex-SOLDIER or not, he was a broken boy, and he was trying desperately to make something work. That something was strange and nebulous between them, at once far-reaching yet fitting on a pinhead and even Aerith did not understand it. But she was compelled by it.

She was compelled by Cloud.

Yes, Cloud was wounded. But Aerith was there with a roll of bandages and a glass of water. She could help, she thinks. She would help.

His hands on her hips surprise her, like she'd never thought he'd hold her so gently or so cautiously. Or, perhaps, at all. Of course, he'd caught her every time she'd needed it. He held her hand. There had been some few moments wherein he had tried to initiate some semblance of contact but could only manage fleeting brushes before he shied away - and yet, in this moment, he is almost as brave as he sounded in the kitchen.

'If… that’s ok… with you.' At first, she wants to say, 'Of course it's okay, I asked you, didn't I?' But she doesn't. Instead, she listens.

He asks if he can take her on a date.

He says he wants to buy her things, to dress nicely for her.

And, he's staring at her as blankly as ever, and she can practically see the rubber band snap back into place as whatever part of his mind that generally manages the matter of speech claps its hand over the far less eloquent boy that had taken control of the microphone. He pulls away and presses that pillow over his face and he punctuates it all by telling her simply and straight forwardly; 'I really… like you.'

The hand that hat been curled against his chin slips down, brushing against his collar, as it seeks one of his gloved hands. Her fingers slowly splay his apart so that they can slot in with them, holding his hand carefully as the other pries the pillow away to send it tumbling away. It lands on the floor, and she does not care.

Leaning over, she tucks her head against his shoulder and brings his hand in close to hold it, provided he'd let her.

"I like you too, Cloud." She says, and quite firmly at that. "You can take me on a date. I already promised you one after all, I thought?"

[makoxmind]

i'm glad i have you now.

In all honesty, he was not sure he could remember what it was like without her. The yawning abyss could have been comprised of any shapes, and like honey to a raw wound she had settled there so sweetly and smoothly that when Cloud clutched at his chest he could no longer feel the sharp edges of what was gone and lost and missing… because he had Aerith now. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? More than the dulling of pain, more than the vibrancy of her existence, the happiness she birthed by simply being at his side… surely, this was where the cleric was supposed to be. 

The coy and minute curling of the corner of his mouth spoke what needn’t be spoken. If ever she wished it so, well, the ‘now’ could stretch onwards to ‘forever', Cloud thinks contentedly.

[makoxmind]

「   RP MEME :       ENEMIES TO FRIENDS TO LOVERS .   」  * change pronouns as needed.

ENEMIES :

‘ don’t act so coy. ’

‘ you! ’

‘ you don’t deserve them. ’

‘ you will never get away with this. ’

‘ i won’t rest until i find you again. ’ 

‘ how dare you pretend to be her friend. ’

‘ does she know the truth about you? ’

‘ how could you do this? ’

‘ this isn’t you. ’

‘ i will be the one who kills you. ’

TO FRIENDS : 

‘ don’t act like you care. ’

‘ i never saw this coming. ’

‘ i’d call it an uneasy alliance if anything. ’

‘ you’re not so bad. ’

‘ i’m trying to trust you, but that’s going to take some time. ’

‘ just because we’re friends doesn’t mean i’m going any easier on you. ’

‘ i’m glad i have you now. ’

‘ try to keep up. ’

‘ so we’re cool now? ’ 

‘ don’t feel like you have to leave just because i got here. ’

TO LOVERS : 

‘ we shouldn’t be doing this. ’

‘ we’ve come a long way, you and i. ’

‘ one more time? for old times’ sake. ’

‘ i want you. ’

‘ i don’t care about anything else. ’

‘ you’re the one for me. ’

‘ i can’t deny it anymore. ’

‘ come to me. ’ 

‘ i just wanted to let you know… ’

‘ please, stay. ’

[makoxmind]

                       she's the only one around & she's turning off the lights                           and she's inside every crack; she's the only thing in sight

                       she's the only one I see & she's flying through the air                         she's the dust upon the sill; she's everywhere

whiitemateria is an independent rp blog for aerith gainsborough of the ff7 universe. expect heavy remake influence and inspiration. crossover friendly, multi-ship, & largely plot-driven. always friendly & always welcoming of memes, asks, and dms ♥

                                                { rules . bio . verses }

[makoxmind]

⭐  𝙢𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙣

— 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙨

(𝙋𝙀𝙉)𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙀: Kells

𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙉𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙎: her/he/they

𝙕𝙊𝘿𝙄𝘼𝘾: (based) aquarius

𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙇𝙀 / 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀𝙉: taken spiritually by zack fair 

— 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙨

𝙞. im an exotics keeper, i keep snakes, two kinds of geckos, and tarantulas

𝙞𝙞. my fursona is a horse, im comparable to a horse in many ways 

𝙞𝙞𝙞. im a midcore raider on ffxiv and i get verbally bullied by my entire static nightly 

— 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚

i started writing when i was young during the OG hetalia craze.,. Yeah im hella old and have been writing a while LOL. ive been published a few times when i was younger, once in a book, multiple times in the papers, only for my poetry. I mostly write fanfiction now! https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kell_s 

— 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚

men, women, monsters, animals. the more complicated their psyche the better lol. I like tragedy a lot

— 𝙨𝙪𝙗-𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚𝙨

angst, horror (of all kinds)/ gore, abuse, hurt/comfort, character death, mental health, torture…. and fluff! <3 i do not rp smut if you ever see me rping smut ive been kidnapped 

— 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙨 𝙫𝙨. 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨

all rping is good my g, i will rp both plots and memes for as long as my special interest holds out and then im back to making godzilla aus PS if i suddenly appear in ur inbox with a plot dont be surprised i like controlling npcs and setting up backdrops like im playing dnd except there are no dice rolls and someone is bound to get hurt

if you see this feel free to steal it! :D

[makoxmind]

ooc; i have been resisting rping on here for so long but then rebirth came out and my aerith returned so im like hmm

maybe we can do a little writing

at least until my special interest switches back to something stupid

[makoxmind]

scorching-passion​:

@makoxmind​ asked: He’s staring directly at the working SOLDIER from the road… ha, border patrol. Rookie work. Those were… the days(?). Cloud doesn’t get too close to openly sneer, but from across the Undercities’ haggard excuse for a road, his expression is definitely… distasteful. With a quirking of his lip he spins upon his heel to leave, hoping to dissolve into the people roaming by, “… What a weirdo.” Unprompted Asks - ALWAYS ACCEPTING

He didn’t notice the look of disdain casually thrown his way; so used to such expressions from the dwellers of the under-cities it was all water off a chocobo’s back, not the shock of messy blonde hair, not the insult he could read not only on his lips but within the shine of his gaze, not even the uniform certainly out of place amongst the masses…

No… 

The sword perched so brazenly between the youth’s shoulders, gleaming in the light of the artificial sun was what caught Roche’s eye, and it did so in an instant. So much so that he was unable to tear his eyes away the moment that distinctive steel weapon came into view. A weapon which the SOLDIER knew didn’t belong to this young mop-a-top supposed warrior in their midst. 

That was Zack Fair’s blade he brandished. Or at least a replica of sorts. But the real question why did he have it, and where on this planet did he get it from? Needless to say, it was a sight Roche hadn’t the pleasure of seeing for a very long time, and it was certainly one which had his heart racing a mile a minute. 

Curiosity was about to kill this cat~

A quick hand signal to the infantryman delivered that day as his escort, does Roche make his leave away from the gates of the train station, to follow this new path of intrigue. And he follows for a while, slowly gaining on this man’s tail, closing the distance, a tiger on the prowl of its next meal. Turning corners, leaving the crowd and into the scrap. 

Two more steps, perhaps three, the grin pulling at the Third’s mouth crazed, wild before he would apprehend this little soldier, grabbing the youth by the shoulder and wrenching his body backwards to pin him then against the rubble bordering the paths leading into the following sector. 

“Well well, what do we have here, hm~?” a vicious hiss between the clenched jaw of a maniacal grin as the SOLDIER took this opportunity to give the young man a very obvious, and very uncomfortable, ocular once over. 

“Smells like an imposter, wouldn’t you agree?”

Oh God. Oh no.

The quick yet rhythmic beat of boots behind him, closing in fast; it takes a lot for him not to outwardly groan as he casually waltzes faster round the scrap metal and lopsided wooden structures the poorest of Midgar had so lovingly crafted for themselves. It was a chase of sorts, not the high speed kind either of them were used to, but the kind where you dodged people floating about on their merry way in a vague attempt to look relatively normal in such a domestic setting. Sadly, it was very often that SOLDIER’s were normal, and this one in particular was known to have spent so much time getting rattled atop bikes that he had barely any screws holding his brain together.

… Not like Cloud Strife was one to talk. 

A turn before they hit the junkyard’s sprawling mess of ‘fencing’, rusted tangles of chain link fencing stretching high up to the Topsides underbelly, and he doesn’t expect to get pinned. Not at all. No-one just went up to people and caught them against walls, that was weird, he had expected a gun or sword or a shove and though the blonde made a sharp yapping sound in surprise he is so stunned by the maneuver that for a moment Cloud is simply staring up at the other in disbelief--

“... What the Hell?!”

It isn’t the uncomfortableness of literal junk pressing against his spine that bothers him, of course. What bothers him is that someone is touching him. Those words were barked out in a real pissed off manner as he immediately raises a boot in a flash in an attempt to plant it directly into Roche’s midsection-- just to get some distance-- with eyes flashing hazy shades of green and blue and dangerously-- 

“Get offa’ me!”

The Thirds words were immediately dismissed as nothing that he needed to pay attention to. Listening to the cooing of a crazy man was like trying to find some good, wholesome part of Shinra that no-one knew; pointless.

[makoxmind]

wingsdreamt​:

Shit. Shit shit shit.

There’s a feeling out there worse than misplacing your keys or your wallet. 

Turning his pockets inside out won’t solve this particular problem. Oh, but he wishes it did. Zack stares at the empty patch of broken stone and bent sheet metal that had served as the temporary hiding place for his friend while he went inside to look for Aerith in the church.  

Gone. Not where he left him. 

Cloud is missing.

Zack brings his hands up and presses the heels of his palms into his temples, pushes his hands through his hair with a sigh and drops them back down to pivot and pace in front of the shadowed nook by the rear left side of the church. 

“Alright. Think, Zack. Clouds don’t just get up and move.” He stops, grimaces. Or do they? Mako had such wildly different effects from person to person that it was impossible to know when or if or how Cloud had disappeared off to Planet knows where. If someone took Cloud… Zack can’t bear to finish the thought as dread tightens around his throat. 

One step at a time, retrace the path they took, hope that maybe he can find Cloud along the way.

Back through the slums…past the leaning towers of tin can living spaces, dilapidated mako generators, forgotten gantries, abandoned electronics and shelled out trailers that may or may once have housed squatters.

Each Sector could house hundreds of thousands of people.

Zack walked and talked his way up through Sector One until his voice was completely hoarse and putting one foot in front of the next felt like dragging lead weights through mud. 

That took four days. 

No rest, no pause, constantly searching, listening, hoping–stopping just about anyone who he could get to listen to him describe the missing blond. By the time the last of the sun’s rays were carving hard angles into the lopsided roofline of the slums, Zack had started to feel like he needed a spatula to scrape his brains up and pat it back into shape. No matter how determined he might be, he is still only one person. One person trying to find another in the entirety of the city of Midgar… 

Enlisting the eyes and ears of the city is an absolute last-ditch solution, and one that he is not looking forward to. He already has an idea of what he must give up in exchange. He also knows that it’s a price he would gladly pay, despite the coil of fury and fear that tightens over his clenched fists. Round and round, the price tag flutters in the dark amidst a flurry of frayed edges and weighted thoughts.

When he rounds the corner only to find Cloud sitting on a shoddy, rust-bitten bench enjoying a loaf of bread and contemplating the mysteries of life, all Zack can do is stare. 

Stare, put on his best goldfish impression, and incredulously stare some more.

“…Cloud?”

He’s being stared at.

He knows this because it feels like the prickling of every hair upon ones body suddenly rising in uncertainty; without knowing the meaning behind someone’s eyes, a simple gaze could be one that was birthed by a myriad of feelings. It was the senses of a SOLDIER that caused such a phenomena, like a third eye or a sixth sense of sort, and while he did not know what direction he was being targeted from Cloud knew immediately to pause, stiffening. Someone strong… something strong, his name is carried upon the wind by a breathless voice that almost makes him want to flinch somehow someway--

That man… in the uniform.

The one with the same eyes as his, the color of the sky and earth, a SOLDIER. A dirty SOLDIER, at that. Patches of lifeless dust kicked up from the arid ground, wild hair, the fabric of his uniform slowly unfurling as time marched forward. The other man is an open book, now their eyes have met Cloud knows that this is a being that did not seek him any harm, in fact, there was a glimmering desperation in the stranger’s eye that he could not quite understand; his own gaze back was not as much hostile… as it was flat. There was no recognition there, not a lick of memory attached to the worn out living weapon afar, and the cold, steel-y pinprick-like pupils that had settled upon Zack were analytical. Watching and waiting. He did not break his sudden stillness, frozen there as if they both had pistols pointed to each others heads, and a single movement would cause the slipping of trigger-fingers to fire off rounds--

“... Who are you.”

Cloud didn’t like it when people knew his name, it meant they were privy to things whilst he was left in the metaphorical dark about his own damned past. It was not so uncommon. Shinra dogs sometimes knew his name and had tales on the tips of their tongues that could easily fill in the gaps in his memory, but the man didn’t want to know. All that mattered was that he was in the moment, alive and working hard for the sake of others-- however… they were never other Firsts. They were grunts and cleaners and watch-men. This changed things a little. It was easy to flee those normal people, people not burdened by the searing of Mako coursing through their veins, but though the stranger looked a fair bit beaten up already there was no doubt about the fact he was strong. Tall. Thick-armed. Cloud was so used to being the only real predator in any breadth of area that when faced with another one… he wasn’t quite sure what he would do.

Despite the sudden uptick in his heart rate he puts on his best ‘intimidation’ face, the crinkling of the bridge of his nose, the scarcest flash of fangs in a scowl, the lowering of his brows. Internally, he envisioned himself being the wolf standing guard.

Externally, he looked like a frazzled Cloud Strife who was clutching his half-a-loaf-of-bread like a damsel clutching her pearls, all puffed up and ready to bark his head off at the scary man.

[makoxmind]

whiitemateria​:

Almost as soon as Cloud lowers himself onto the bed, she slides in closer and pulls their tangled hands up to rest between them, near enough that she can breathe against his knuckles. Tucking them beneath her chin, the beat of her heart felt beneath delicate skin at her throat, Aerith seems briefly surprised that this was the route he would take to talk about their bond. Yet in a way, it made sense for him; to act on impulse, on what he has to work with in a moment, throwing the plan away in favor of skirting by the skin of his teeth. 

‘What is this?’ That was a good question. They were, at once, nothing, and yet everything. In the aftermath of the monologue meant to be heard by no one, she was feeling a level of confidence all her own; it was hard to tell what Cloud was thinking, the true depths of his thoughts and feelings, but now she knew the truth, straight from his own mouth. And so, as his words of honest confusion are spared, Aerith begins to move. Though she is nearly stopped by the way his thumb stroked her, her fingers come undone from the ex-SOLDIER’s, and she pulls herself up enough that she nearly looms over him, curly hair partially dried and swept over a shoulder. Some strands still dangle down, threatening at the skin of his arm, as she stares down at him with wide, wide eyes.

“What … do you wanna be?” She asks with that gentle curiousness she offers for all things, one of her hands moving to touch at his chin, feather-light but still there. “… Do you … want to be my …”

Aerith trails off, contemplating on the word to use. Boyfriend felt so childish. Boyfriend felt like she was still a girl waiting for Zack to give her another call so she could just hear his voice again. Boyfriend felt too flimsy for the feelings that solidified like steel between the two of them as the days passed.

“Do you want to be mine?” She decides to ask, cutting the question short to imply some sort of gentle possession. No unkind sort, not the burning jealousy that one may feel when they felt they owned someone, but rather the furling of dainty hands to wrap around a hummingbird, a brief haven, somewhere, someone to be safe. Someone you can run to, when you need it.

‘Do you want to be mine?’

What bravado? What striking sense of masculinity? Cloud had envisioned himself with a thousand words chattered at the poor women, Hell, that was what he had practiced, but like the winter chased away by spring he was subdued by the softest of warm touches against his snowy self. Aerith was in control of the situation. She was always in control of the situation, a step ahead of him, reaching down or up or to him with the same sturdy hand asking to be filled with his own--

It was very easy to run to her.

Even easier to follow her lead.

She leans, every point of contact makes the man want to quiver, he’s staring up into those eyes that encapsulated the waning forests of a world slowly choking on poison, and they are perhaps lovelier than they have ever been. The surgical segmentation of his own did not, could not compare to the natural hues her gaze wore… and nor could they ever mimic the loveliness held within. Cloud was trying. He hoped the round, incandescent eyes peering up at her were as soft and as wanting, but in his period of thought the feelings reflected there are mostly--

“... Y… yes.” Cloud nods his head gently at first, and then a touch more eagerly, “I’d… like to be yours, if… that’s ok… with you.”

… Excitement of the innocent kind. The fighter's words had wavered slightly as he whispered it, almost fearful of anyone hearing (her mother especially), he was still but had visibly become overcome with disbelief of some strange sort. She really did… feel the same way? Aerith meant her words as a kinship akin to finding Heaven amidst the Hell of Gaia, but Cloud Strife takes it literally, as he always does, yes, yes he wants to be hers. A shelter dog finally given a leash and a biscuit and beckoned, come, these four walls will no longer be your home, you will no longer know bars and concrete and loneliness because I, I will be there.

The melody of words spoken to the empty kitchen chair race across his mind, speak, he commands himself,

“I… I, um…”

Both hands reach out to tentatively press against the side of her waist in a grip that was not absent of pressure yet did no harm; the touch was not indicative of any sexual feeling or wants, it was pure… he simply wanted to hold her. That would be enough. The band of red that had crawled across his face was pink at first, but was growing evermore scarlet the longer the man simply stewed in the silence-- thinking, thinking-- that person beneath the soft skin of his palms… a girl had asked him out. Not just any girl, either. The mongrel had somehow managed to catch the eye of the prettiest and kindest woman in any damn room, yet, no smile dawns upon his expression of disbelief, the silence is suddenly punctuated by a gentle exclamation,

“C… Can I… take you out? On a date?”

Nervous she’ll say no, still nervous she’ll say no when she was the one that had asked him out to begin with, he knows he should be smiling but somehow it feels like the scene could fall to pieces like glass shattered at a single wrong turn or butchered phrase,

“I… want to take you somewhere nice. And buy you things… and dress good. If, if you don’t mind that.”

It wasn’t what Cloud Strife had planned in the darkness, no, but it was better than gawking at the poor woman like a fish hooked and dragged onto land. It’s all so embarrassing, but not even the complex chains that usually drug the idiot down into patches of self-loathing and self-hatred could dim the absolute fire he felt himself aflame with-- and what could he do with such energy? His chin had found a home at her fingertips, leaning gently as the warmth of his sigh ghosts the pale lines of her veins beneath pearly skin. Cloud is making a face. The sort of face that a horse makes before it’s about to bolt from its post, the sort of face he made when he realized how uncool he had been acting, all flat eye’d and wobbly mouthed-- eyes flicker to and from her,

“You-- You always look nice-- w-what I mean is, I could look nicer. And, I know you like it down here, but Topside is different, so I wanted to…”

A groan, his head leaves her, hands leave her, the man-who-was-still-such-a-boy takes up a stray pillow and covers his entire head with it tightly as if to insinuate he’s going to suffocate himself. Quietly, mumbled, falling back onto old tactics that always worked when talking directly to someone made one want to shrivel up into absolute nothingness,

“... I really… like you, Aerith.”

That’s all that mattered, really.

[makoxmind]

@wingsdreamt “Fifteen gil.”

“Fifteen gil?”

It made sense in some askew numerical way that sector one, as accessible as it was and as ‘organized’ as a slum could be, would have peddlers that at least offered something reminiscent of real food. The brushing of the cold wind upon the tops of his arms was making Mr Strife a very impatient man indeed. The bread-seller and himself were sharing a heated glance; was it really… bread? Was it that mealy, bland tasting stuff that was oft mixed with sawdust to stretch the loaf further…? It would be a gamble, and a gamble he would have to take, because it was late in the day and there were only three loaves left and he didn’t want to chew upon the glue that was the melted plastic of fake meat-- he paid, but the cut of his glare showed that he wasn’t happy about it.

The sun had long been eclipsed by Midgar’s heart, the Shinra building above, and all that was left for the undercity was the dredges of light that flittered through the plates slits. Cloud didn’t see the gaps between Avalanches adventures as ‘days off’ per se, but without purpose he was a horse in a pen riding round in circles and they had to give him his freedom before he went stir crazy. Planet this, Shinra that. Money this, slums that. Repetitive conversations about mission points spoken time and time again when he grasped them the first time… getting away before Tifa tentatively asked more questions. Avoiding Aerith and her questions. ‘Relief’ was the quiet of his own solitude in some different place, where the young SOLDIER could kick back and simply turn his brain off. 

In that current moment, he was quite occupied with the bread.

Sitting upon a bench composed of sand-belted scrap-metal kept together with iron loops, he set his fangs gently upon the loaf-- so the crunch was quite excellent, even if the flour tasted off in a metallic sort of way. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t Shinra’s protein rations and it sure as Hell wasn’t slum-rat soup, so contentedly the blonde set about gnawing upon the loaf like a starved wolf as the world passed him by. Poor folks haggling for quality. Rich folks hunting for a bargain. People of all walks of life chattering in a melody of sound, the high pitches of the stall vendors, the lows of the hushed deal-makers… and Cloud, in his own little world, with a stupid loaf of maybe-fifty-percent-maybe-seventy-percent actual bread that cost half the price of a damn hotel room down in sector five. A soft sigh of relief, cheeks puffed like a hamsters as he chewed slowly. Yeah... it was alright.

Fifteen gil… maybe it was kinda’ worth it.

[makoxmind]

whiitemateria​:

Laid up silently in her room, Aerith awaits Cloud’s return like a princess in her tower, lying in wait for her knight in shining armor to come save her. O’ gallant knight, who … sat at the kitchen table eating all the bread and ham in the house …! She feels silly for being so eager to see him walk through the door; perhaps any other girl would find it embarrassing that the boy had to rehearse what he wanted to say while scooping spoonfuls of jam directly from the jar in the middle of the night. But to her, it was heartwarming, it was sweet, a testament that a soldier was not just a soldier, but a man underneath.

So, there she waits, until the door opens and closes in the span of a second, and he’s there and he’s looking at her. He’s got that unimpressed look about him, the one he always has, where if she didn’t know that he just looked like that, she’d think something was wrong. And maybe something is, because she’s surprised by the way he suddenly hoists her up into his arm. In a way, she wished it was more careful, something sweeter, but regardless she’s vaguely enamored with the way she felt like nothing in his grasp. 

But before she can think to even argue that she’d love to remain on the floor with him, he’s got her laid in her bed and he’s already warning her about the dangers of sleeping on hard surfaces for too long. Before he’s gone from her space, she reaches out to grasp hold of his wrist, seeking to draw him in closer, if he’d let her.

“I wanted to sleep with you, though.” Comes her retort, voice soft as she gently clasps both her hands around his much larger one. “… If it’s bad for me, it’s bad for you, too. You could … lay here with me? If you want.”

Was this going to scare him away? Aerith certainly hopes not, because all she wanted was to be close to him. Her mother’s voice echoes in her ears, but she doesn’t think Cloud would dare test those waters, least of all under Elmyra’s roof. After all, they’d been in a hotel meant for those sorts of encounters and – well, something had happened, but …

“Please?” She asks after but a beat of the heart.

Civvies didn’t understand what the harshness of a cot was, nor rock or metal against the spine, it was both a blessing and a curse to long for the comfort of a bed yet feel so strange within one. This time was different, however. It was the quiet longing in her voice that made the comfy invitation a little more enticing… the last time had been nothing short of a disaster, but the past was the past and he was trying to rectify those moments were words failed him and the little domestic actions they shared in their short time together were alien and left him frustrated. For change, one had to grasp at the unknown in an act of confrontation, Cloud was rarely combative outside of actual combat, but if not for being brave in the face of a simple request, then what was all that practise downstairs for…? Nothing would progress. For the sake of his time, for those feelings, fingertips curling against her palm as Aerith’s hands ensnared his…

“... Fine.”

He obeys, and even manages not to make a blunt comment about how what is ‘bad for him’ is unequivocally irrelevant when compared to what was good for her or not. That hand is never free’d from her clutches, oh so carefully he crawls onto the bed with eyes consistently skirting the covers as if to pick apart her outline beneath the blanket, Cloud is making sure they aren’t too close but the man knows in his heart of hearts that that will change, whether it be in time or in the moment the florist decides that the breadth between them is but a few inches too long. He still managed to retain some anxiety about making the first move physically, but the mercenary felt that renewed confidence from the table resurface as he laid his fluffy head upon the pillow and turned upon his side to face her and the way her fingers fit perfectly between the gaps of his own… he can’t help himself. The silence begs for answers. He has to question (bluntly, as was his style) before the fighter mutters the dreaded ‘L’ word,

“... What… is this?��

A minute waggle of that semi-covered hand; not what the action nor the captive limb meant, but… them. Two strangers who knew not the secret of the others’ past nor their traumas yet who fit together like lock and key, as if they had known each other a life-time and then some-- what was that? Cloud isn’t aware that the circumstances are completely unique to them, he knows it as love but it’s still so strange. It felt like a fairy tale, like riding up to a princess in her castle and daring to share her bed and no doubt they would kiss eventually and end up married, backed by this flowery home and its aged bricks and its elegant waterfall. The problem, however, was that whilst the fighter perceived her to be very much akin to a princess, he was no prince. How could the idyllic story play out the same, when she looked at the butcher as if he had a million gil and a palace afar… Cloud had nothing.

Yet, still… she did not care...

… His thumb runs against the edge of her hand gently, eyes half closed, he battles insecurity in the same nonchalant manner that he did every day-- in silence, deep, deep within.

“... Dunno’.” Swallowing, the ex-SOLDIER finds the outline of her pale hands easier to cope with than the depth of Aerith’s gaze, “... I think… I don’t really understand.”

What exactly that means is left up to interpretation.

[makoxmind]

whiitemateria​:

It takes all of four minutes for Aerith to realize that leaving the mercenary to his own devices was a mistake, even if she had warned him not to eat too much. What was too much to a man who could eat an entire large pizza? Rising to her feet, Aerith pulls open her bedroom door to start making her way downstairs… but she stops just before the shadows meld into the light as she realizes it sounds like Cloud is talking to someone.

No, he’s talking to her. Except, he isn’t really talking to her. A slow smile curls its way across her features, red blooming across her cheeks again where she had only just managed to calm the way her heart beat after the touch of his hand. Rather than interrupt him, Aerith just leans forward, her elbow upon her thigh, her cheek in her palm, so she might listen. From this angle, so high up, the Cetra can see him gesticulate and repeat his words, and it’s so … sweet. That’s the only word she can think of for him now; he was a killer, a vicious one, honed for battle and steely-eyed, but he was so sweet.

All these things she already understood, could’ve inferred, but to hear him say it aloud makes her feel a little warm inside. Though he did not have the courage to say it directly to her in this moment, he was trying to find it, gather it, and she could only hope he would continue to flourish. Whatever had wounded him, cleaved him so deeply, Cloud clearly wanted to be better than; she would do all she could to urge that growth. She wanted to be there for it, to see it, to stand in the glow of a man who manages to be more than he ever expected.

His voice tapers off, and she has his words ringing in her mind. Each and every one she wanted to commit to memory, but she lingers on the way he finally found just the right way to say what he wanted; I want to run to you.

How to answer him? That was her own question.

The answer was obvious, of course. Aerith would wait with arms wide open as long as she needed for him to fling himself into her, and then she’d hold him, tighter than she’d ever held anything else. She’d never let go of him, if it was in her strength to do so. She would become so strong, if she could, if she had to.

She stares down at him for a while, watching him eat his jam and bread with a fondness; had she the courage to reveal she had been listening in all along, she would join him and do such a simple thing as eat with him because that’s what she wanted to do. To eat food with him, to lay with him in their quiet moments, to experience life alongside him.

Such silly, little things, but she wants them. And they’re things she knows she won’t get.

After a time, Aerith decides to let him gather his courage in peace, rising to her feet to gently sneak back into her bedroom and back beneath the covers laid out on the floor, faintly glowing with the knowledge of what she had seen, had heard.

Maybe they wouldn’t mind… if the other half of the loaf was gone, too.

Cloud could give them enough money to buy two loaves of bread, the real stuff, and that would even out the fact that it’s calling to him from the countertop like a siren luring a sailor to his death; it says, you need me. The fighter continues to chatter to himself, a bird singing to no audience, lost in his own little world in the absolute darkness,

“... It’ll be ok… it’s just bread. Who gets angry over bread?”

Because there is only so long he can keep licking that spoon-- the half is yoinked from the side and transported back to the table with a gentle sigh, damn it,

“‘Wish I wasn’t so weak… thanks, mom.”

If she hadn’t been so eager on the sweet stuff then neither would he have been…! Cloud is as swift as he was before, the entire jar… the entire loaf… gone. Oh, her mom was gonna’ be pissed, but would Elmyra understand if he deeply apologize and attempted to impress upon her the importance of how shit healing made you feel, and how he needed four thousand calories minimum daily, and how on top of that more because there had been a hole in his center and a wedge driven against his shoulder-- Cloud tries not to overthink it, even if he is the crowned champion of letting the gears in his skull turn into they sparked. He repeats, who gets angry over bread?, and without eyes to judge him the dog licks the bowl clean. Makes washing up easier, and the mercenary does wash up, if only to lessen the impact of whatever words would fly at him in the morning. Even the jar, which was filled with water, shaken vigorously and then drank from till it was empty (there were places his tongue couldn’t reach, besides, water was good) was clean.

Right, down to business. Full bellied, speech practiced, Cloud envisioned himself marching up those stairs and bursting into the room with a quiet, heartfelt confession-- it would look so cool and manly… but maybe too aggressive. The merc daydreams as he wanders up the stairs to the room about the impact of an entrance and fails to make any sort of appearance immediately, because his steps are so quiet and he naturally creeps that for Aerith, suddenly, the door is closing as if the man teleported up there in an instant. Only somewhat terrifying.

“...”

It was alright, this wasn’t a lost cause! There were still points to be one through chivalry; Aerith isn’t asleep and Cloud knows it, though he doesn’t know why… but he could chance at a guess. The floor and it’s lack of comfort immediately sprang to mind. The man tips his head as he pads over to the woman upon the ground, where he reaches down and curls an arm around her middle with the blankets in tow, plucking her from the floor and keeping her tucked beneath his arm akin to the manner one would snatch a cat from a street for forced pettings. The poor girl is placed upon her bed gently, his gravelly tone comes and it’s so different from how he was downstairs,

“Don’t sleep on the ground.” Warned, furling a hand against a hip, “The hard surface will compress your muscles and joints over time, and you’ll be sore when you wake up.”

… How romantic!